Date: Mon, 14 Jan 2002 10:17:32 EST
From: AdvnturPup@aol.com
Subject: Mr. August
DISCLAIMER: Well, not really a disclaimer -- rather a claim: this is a true
story, dialogue as recalled the very next morning. But the "handle" of the
Muscle Guy was made up for this purpose. Other than that detail, this is as
precise a representation of the experience as i could conjure. Enjoy!
**************************
Having survived various rigors of travel for business (To the departmental
administrator: "what do you mean i'm not eligible for a travel advance?" To
the hotel clerk when I call in to alert them to my flight delay from the
airport: "what do you mean you've got me booked for August! its MARCH!
i'm at the airport!" To my very large (and NOT muscular) neighbor on the
flight: "Does every flight have screaming children, or just the one's I'm
on?" To the flight attendant: "...but I double checked with my travel
agent that he had booked a veggie dinner...") I finally arrived at a bed
and breakfast that DID have a room for me and immediately leapt on line,
plugging my laptop into the phone jack in my quaint little room. Nothing
like interactive on line pornography for distractions from one's woes,
which in my case means cruising for someone to play with.
Fortunately, Dean is feeling the same way tonight... unfortunately its 1
a.m. and he's long past the time when he's game for something immediate and
he's winding down; however, exchange of pictures and some chat demonstrates
that we're eminently compatible and he's game to meet at some time later
during my trip. As I figure out my schedule it becomes clear that the last
day, four days hence, is the only day when our schedules match up (busy
men!) and we make a date for that weekday morning when he'll be returning
from the gym and i'm fully done with my work before my afternoon flight
home. So he gives me the address and I gaze intermittently at his picture
over the next several days wondering just what we'll get up to. Its clear
that he's as much of a top as I am a bottom. Its clear that he's got the
body to make me squirm -- not competitive bodybuilder level, but solid,
ripped, strong. And he's a little different from most of these musclemen
in my stories -- bucking the fashion, he's into keeping his body hair and
that's the one hesitation he has about me: shaved or not, there's not a lot
of hair there... But I assure him I won't shave between now and our
meeting and that a few days growth of my beard will help. Yes, this man
seems sexy enough to determine my grooming habits for the next few days.
In matters of sexual planning I don't find rigidity to be very useful.
When I get up that morning I efficiently pack up everything so I won't feel
hurried if our scene goes on a while. Still on New York Time i'm even up
early enough to walk from the Castro, where i'm staying, down Market Street
toward his home -- he had given me bus instructions, but the weather's
beautiful and back home its still Winter, so I walk. Its lovely foreplay
for the main event: the morning sun is bright, the air feels gentle and
warm on my arms and face, and the sexy San Francisco men I pass contain a
solid contingent of those that cruise me back. In fact, the whole four
days has been filled with uncommon cruising and luck and I wonder if its
just that i'm 'fresh meat' or if there's such a lack of classical
nice-jewish-boys-in-glasses out here that i'm really popular as a novellty
item. But I don't worry about causes too much -- i've had a full few days
of fun, in and around the work stuff (though not all of them muscleboys to
report in this particular forum and the occasional one that was doesn't
want a story written...). So by the time I arrive at his apartment i'm
feeling confident and relaxed and ready.
Shortly after I arrive and hang out on the sidewalk before his building he
shows up and i'm struck by his thick dark hair and full, trimmed goatee
moustache, and the dark piercing eyes with which he makes his initial
assessment of me. He chats casually about how nice the morning is and
holds the door for me, which I take as the best sign that i've passed
muster, at least initially. We go upstairs and enter his duplex loft
apartment (duplex loft!!! do you know what this is to a new yorker??? I
lust for the space as much as I will ultimately for him!). The chit chat
is casual, about apartments and space, about protein supplements (he's
mixing one as we speak). The design of the apartment is very clean,
modern, but not cliched, and everything is very neat -- I notice
appreciatively and make the mental note of how often I meet dominant tops
whose apartments echo the control and order that they will subsequently
impose upon me. I think how it would be to become another piece of
furniture for this man's use.
While finishing the preparations of his drink he has taken off the nylon
shell that he's been wearing and the real strength of his body first
becomes apparent. The pic he had sent me is old and he's been training
hard since it was taken. His legs looked full and solid in his jeans, but
I wasn't really prepared for the sight of his torso and arms as they're now
revealed in his workout tshirt. I'm mesmerized as he goes through his
kitchen work, watching the arms ball up and then lengthen, his chest rising
and falling as he breaths, his thick corded neck as he tilts back his head
taste testing the concoction that will become part of his growing form. He
looks at me looking at him and smiles: "this isn't quite ready, why don't
you go upstairs and get comfortable while I finish up -- it will be obvious
which chair you should use when you get there..." I look at him
quizzically, but turn to do as i'm told. "Oh, here, take this, it'll keep
you occupied while you're waiting." Turning, I see him holding out a
glossy magazine toward me: an old Colt Portfolio catalog! I grin from ear
to ear, liking the direction this is taking, but he doesn't really
acknowledge my amusement -- there's been a subtle shift: from suggestions
these have become commands, and my amusement or approval is wholly beside
the point. "Thank you Sir" I reply, taking the magazine, and turn to the
steel and wood open staircase that, curving, rises up to the second level
loft above our heads. "Oh!" he calls to me from behind, "see if you can
guess which is my favorite picture." "YES SIR!" and I hop onto the first
step.
At the top of the stairs it is very clear where I am headed. There is a
reclining black leather chaise, the kind where the whole thing can rotate
from horizontal to upright in its chrome frame. This just gets better and
better. I strip down, folding my clothes neatly, as I suspect he prefers,
leaving on my white briefs and my socks (my socks? something about keeping
them on feels sexy -- don't ask me why!). I settle on to the leather chair
and its cool and soft beneath my skin. I set it so that i'm largely
horizontal, head only slightly raised. I fit into it well. I open the
Colt portfolio and gaze at pictures which i've seen before -- this is old
stuff, before porn surfaces became so uniformly smooth, polished, hairless
and almost sexless, from when homosex didn't try to portray itself as
hygenically clean, sterilized. This stuff is about danger, transgression,
daring. While the poses are often formal, they look as though the figures
have been captured either in midscene, or as though they are about to
spring into action. While all of the men are muscular, they don't all look
like steroid juiced men of the 90's. There are hairy men and smoothmen,
beefy men and ripped men, 'boys' and 'men', all of them Men united in the
pursuit of a moment of transcendant bonding with another Man, through
dominance or submission, through aggression or tenderness. The book is
like a photo tour through significant parts of my own mental lust-map. I
grow hard in my briefs, lying on the soft black leather, while looking at
it.
Towards the end of the portfolio I see the pic that is my guess for this
Master's 'favorite'. Its a picture of a hairy-chested, very muscular top
feeding his cock to a supine, hungry boy, while standing over him. The
boy's head hangs down backwards off the surface upon which he lies. Its a
classic Colt image. I focus on this picture and lightly graze my hand over
my cock, getting it to jump a little. I'm getting turned on in a big way,
but i'm not in a particular hurry -- this will unfold as it will and i'm
just letting it all happen on the last day of my trip, the only full
vacation day of the journey.
I hear footsteps on the stair, but I don't put down the book. I want him
to see me doing as I was told and I want to see the living vision side by
side with the stylized two-dimensional image. When he appears he might as
well have stepped from the book directly rather than have come up the
stairs. He wears nothing but a white jockstrap. His tan serves to deepen
his meditaranean complected olive skin. The hair which spreads across his
chest, down his belly and into the jock strap is deep black as his beard
and his eyes. The muscles it covers are hard and defined, striations
apparent from afar, the clefts between muscles cut deep. I turn the book
toward him: "This picture, Sir?" "Yeah, boy, you guessed right" and he
steps toward me, takes the book from my hand and straddles my prone body.
"I think that's a good place to start", he says and firmly, though gently
pulls my head toward his crotch.
Oh how good he smells! Damp and musky from the sweat produced at the gym.
His cock is full and thick within the fabric and I begin mouthing it with
my lips and my tongue. Its a classic moment: the commanding hand on the
back of my head, the ribbed fabric of the jock against my mouth. I close
my eyes involuntarily, surrendering to these tactile sensations and to the
smell and taste of his crotch. But then I come back to myself and open my
eyes: I want to see the man who has begun to take me.
And what a man! Up close now, rising above me, more detail yet of his
rippling stomach, his full, powerful pecs, his pumped arms and shoulders.
I reach up and run my hands over him and feel for the first time how
incredibly soft his body hair is and how wonderful is the contrast between
its soft texture and the porcelain hardness and musky scent of the muscles
underneath. As his cock begins to harden from my attention and his growing
sense of power, my own cock stays rigid without a touch, bobbing from the
sensory input alone. I'm living a classic Colt moment now, in full, and
loving it!
He murmurs in response to the way my mouth moves. I watch as he turns his
body this way and that, to get different views of his new cock slave going
to town. "Take it out boy! Take off my jock with your teeth" and he
positions himself to allow me to do that. I pull it down slowly but
steadily and his thick, still growing cock, emerges from beneath the
fabric. He steps off to the side, swinging a leg over my body, and quickly
removes the jock, then swings back into position, all within the space of
two breaths. Deep breaths at that, because i'm preparing now to suck as
mightily and devotedly as I can.
Again he angles me and himself for maximum efficiency, scoops my head from
the leather headrest and pulls me into him. My mouth envelopes the thick
head of his cock and I begin to wash it with my tongue, caress it with the
inside of my mouth. He moans a little and adjusts so that he can push it
in deeper, and we continue like this, his cock becoming fully hard, every
little while an adjustment to allow me to take it in more effectively. I
don't have to worry about more than what my mouth is doing, he's taking
care of the rest, now fully using me like a device for his own jerking off.
He pushes deeper into my throat and lets me gag and choke a little, before
allowing me the chance to breathe. This is about his pleasure, not mine,
and the intermittent discomfort of gagging and choking which his movements
inflict obviously gets him turned on -- and getting him turned on gets me
turned on. Oh fuck! Look at this hairy muscle Stud standing over me,
using my mouth for his pleasure!
Getting close for the first time, he pulls back and steps off again,
letting his cock back off from its peak for a moment. He comes round
behind me and now I see the full measure of his design conciousness. He
casually presses down on the headrest and the whole leather couch rotates,
so that my feet rise up and my head sinks. I won't have to lean my head
back to take him this way. My open, hungry mouth is positioned perfectly
for him to begin fucking from over my head, angling directly deep into my
mouth and, with the first thrust, down into my throat.
BAM! the face fuck begins and his favorite image from the magazine comes
to life! Sliding in and out, sometimes teasing, sometimes deeply thrusting,
sometimes letting me catch my breath while banging his cock on my forehead,
my ears, my eyes, my nose. Sometimes he just lets it rest on my face
letting my lips and tongue dance along the bobbing head while his balls
rest, now damply as he sweats a bit, on my forehead. He continues to
tease, taunt and fuck my mouth while holding my ears, twisting my nipples,
or just holding my head where he wants it and thrusting forward. On and on
this face fucking goes as I lose sense of time -- all my attention is
focussed now on my mouth and his cock, my throat and his cock, my tongue
and his cock.
"Take your pants down, boy -- play with your cock while i'm fucking your
mouth." Of course I obey and wriggle to remove my briefs down while still
keeping my mouth active on his cock. When I succeed he reaches down and
swings the leather couch up again as he steps away. "OK boy -- time to
show me that butt -- let me see the other hole I get to use..." He pushes
me toward the bed which is high, high enough for my butt to be perfectly
placed for him to fuck from a standing position behind me. I lie down for
him on the cool grey bedspread and he takes out some lube and begins to
feel my butthole, testing to see if its worth his attention. As I had
promised, it is...
The sound of the night table drawer opening again and I hear the sounds
that herald my major moment: the first entry of this cocksman into my butt.
The sound of the wrapper tearing, the hands pulling the rubber tight down
his cock, the pause as he reaches for the lube, the wet sound of more lube
on his cock and then the second pause as he finds the best position from
which to strike. These sounds and silences, so routine, so regimented,
have become the common central moment of so many of my adventures and, in
sequence, they bring me to a pitch of butt twitching anticipation -- they
herald the moment when hope gives way to certainty and...
"Gonna fuck you now boy!" and POP! his head slips inside and brings me back
to the real solid present -- enough thinking, time for fucking! He reaches
down one hand, grabbing my shoulder to brace himself, and pushes forward
into me... deeper, steady, no hurry, sinking into my butt up to the hilt!
Impaling me thus, he leans down over me and I feel his chest hair and pecs
pressing into my back. His cock twitches in and out, ever so slightly as
he begins to tease my neck and my ear with his tongue. He finds the spots
that make me squirm and goes for them. The more I squirm from his tickling
tongue the better his cock feels. Each moment of contact on my neck
triggers a movement that causes my butt to squeeze or to rotate, giving his
cock the attention it craves. And the more he feels my butt, the hotter he
gets, the wilder his mouth on and about my neck and ears gets, the more I
squirm... This goes on and on as we're building to a neck biting frenzy and
i'm moaning and writhing, both trying to sink into him and get away... then
suddenly POP! and he's out again!
The loss! I turn to look over my shoulder and I see his powerful form
focussing on his crotch as he's removing the condom... "Sir....?" "I've
got another idea for you, pig boy...get into the bathroom." I roll over,
sit up, then stand, and do as i'm told. I'm starting to get the idea, this
seems to be more and more popular with my musclemen, but, less surprising
to me as time goes by, I am learning to love it. I move quickly wanting to
obey and he gestures to me to sit on the toilet. He stands before me,
between my legs and allows me to nuzzle and lick the now sweat-damp soft
dark hair on his rock hard body. The taste and smell of his sweat is
wonderful. I nurse on his right nipple, then his left, as his hands pass
through my hair, caress my head, or stroke my three day old beard. Its a
wonderful moment of strength cloaked in tenderness and I lap up the
sensations the way I lap the sweat from between his pecs.
Slowly the pressure of his hands on my head changes though and I know its
time to begin servicing him again. His cock points at me from below and I
open my mouth and take him in. The build up this time is fast -- he's
played me from many angles already and he's ready to let fly. Using my
mouth and my hands together, long wet twisting strokes of his shaft and
head have him breathing hard. And he's a flexer when excited: the waves of
sensation sweeping over him from his cock have him tighten his whole body.
Bringing his arms around my head, holding me in place as the excitement
builds so he can begin pelvic thrusting his cock into my mouth, I am
surrounded by muscle -- his whole body flexing all around me as his
breathing gets shorter, raspier... he's getting close and he pushes my
face into his crotch so that I can start licking his balls as he suddenly
climbs over the edge and SHOOTS! On to his crunching abs... SHOOTS! on to
my forehead.. SHOOTS on to my shoulder, and then, his body jerking, moans
reflexively escaping his lips, it just flows from his cock, over his
jerking hand, as I hold tight to his legs, my face buried between his
thighs, lightly tonguing his balls and crotch coaxing the last bit of
pleasure and cum from him...
As his body begins to relax he releases me, takes a breath and leans back.
His eyes are closed for a moment, then he opens them and looks down into my
awe-struck, cum smeared face. Cum drips from my cheek and runs down my
chest from my shoulder. My hand is on my cock stroking it lightly as it
bounces, rigid. I'm so turned on by everything that has happened that,
with his cum dripping on my body, I only await his signal that I have
permission to cum. He just stares down at me at first, touches some of the
cum on my chest and shakes his head, smiling at the mess he's made of me.
His hand returns to his cock and he points it at me. My breathing begins
to get more intense, as his had just moments before. Sly and intense, he
nods slightly and my hand steps up the pace. I slouch down a bit as my
pelvis tilts reflexively as I get closer to the edge. Suddenly he hisses,
as breath escapes from between his teeth: I hadn't realized that something
else was coming, i'd forgotten that the last change in local was for a
reason. Hot piss streams from him on to my body, washing the cum and sweat
from my chest down between my legs into the toilet. He showers me with his
muscle piss, cleaning me. The heat from his piss and the lubrication it
supplies and the intensity of being a receptacle for what this power body
produces push me over the edge and with a gasping moan the cum just flows
from my cock. Its one of those rolling orgasms I sometimes get, first a
few waves as the cum flows over my hand, mixing with the piss that still
washes over me, then a second peak and a third one as I feel the muscles in
my crotch spasm and one shot a second shoot upward and land on his right
thigh and his cock! I can't stop jerking as sensations flash upward and I
moan and moan until I sag forward and, heaving a sigh, I fall against the
pillars of those cum washed thighs of thighs. The combination of our
various fluids makes me slippery, at first, then a bit sticky,! as I hang
on to him and come down from the orgasm he's driven out of me.
He strokes my hair, petting me a bit, soothing me and laying claim to me at
the same time. Within a few minutes he pulls me up, takes me into the
shower where after a quick rinse off I assume duties as his body slave,
soaping him up, washing him down, massaging his shoulders, indulging in a
bit more worship. I lick the water washing down his chest or, when
kneeling, from his thighs. I can go like this for hours, maintaining
physical contact with this beefy, masterful, testosterone-drenched man.
He's begun to engage me in casual conversation while all this goes on, but
underneath it all is my explorations of his warm, pumped, stud's body. He
decides when the shower is over, because I won't ever end it on my own. I
dry him off, then myself, and we step back to the bedroom to dress and get
on with our day.
In response to my verbal praise for his body (the white tight t-shirt he
pulls on just making him look even more pumped and delicious than
before...) he tells me about having been selected to be Mr August 2000 of
the South of Market Bare Chest calendar, sold to benefit AIDS related
services in San Francisco.
As I head out with him to the street I contemplate my luck at having found
a "Calendar Guy" to play with (another fantasy fulfilled that I hadn't even
thought to imagine!).